


A Trip Down Memory Lane

by fittons



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Implied M/M, M/M, implied eleventh doctor/rory williams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:18:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fittons/pseuds/fittons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In fact, one could say that he’d forgotten, which seemed ironic given his current position in Memory Lane."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Trip Down Memory Lane

The Doctor opened his eyes blearily and yawned, stretching out his arms with a contented sigh. He’d never slept so well in all his life – the Tardis must have changed the bed covers again. Thank Rassilon. 

It smelled a bit funny, though – like Lynx, or some other sort of manly scent that he didn't possess. Or rather, reek of. He’d never really found those sorts of smells very nice to sample, especially when used in large and unnecessary quantities. 

It was then that he realized that the smell wasn't coming from the covers, or indeed the room around him. It was coming from somewhere specific, but he couldn't quite place it. Scrunching up his nose as he attempted to detect the location of the stench, he peered around the room, sitting up as he did so. 

He paused, frowning. It wasn't his room. That explained why the covers were so comfy – but if he hadn't slept in his own bed, whose bed had he slept in? He jumped out, ready to investigate. That Lynx smell was still lingering around the room, but he still couldn't find the source. 

The room was quite plain; white walls and ceiling, and a wooden floor. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a normal bedroom. But something was still niggling at the back of the Doctor’s mind, telling him that it wasn't right to be there. Shrugging, he stepped forward to inspect the door.

A single, silver-look plaque was placed directly in the center of the door, and as the Doctor leaned in to look, the nagging feeling got worse. It read, in perfectly formed block capitals, ‘Memory Lane,’ with a small swirling pattern bordering the writing. As he reached to tug uneasily at his collar, he was surprised to find that it had disappeared, along with the rest of his shirt. He looked down at himself. He was naked, save for a pair of black boxers which he didn't recall owning. He didn't know whether he’d woken up in them or not – in fact, one could say that he’d forgotten, which seemed ironic given his current position in Memory Lane.

Plus, he always wore pajamas to bed; why was he wearing only a pair of boxers he didn't even remember owning? And why did the Tardis have a room like that? With a shiver (partly because he was feeling a little unnerved, and partly because he was getting cold due to his lack of clothing), he turned back to the bed.

And jumped violently.

Rory lay silent underneath the covers, his chest rising and falling peacefully. The Doctor’s chest was working in quite a different way as he struggled to remember the events that had taken place during his time in ‘Memory’ Lane. But, as the nature of the room would intend, his memory had been completely wiped, like a cloth across a blackboard. Or whiteboard, depending on what era you were from.

He took a step back as Rory shifted in his sleep, nuzzling into the pillow. How could he have not noticed another person sleeping right next to him? Had his sight and hearing been impaired during the night? He rubbed his eyes, but Rory remained planted firmly in his bed. 

Well, it explained the smell.


End file.
